Willard

Willard

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The common room had emptied some since he had walked in. A dingy, stinking place, there had been a dozen occupants decorating the tables upon his arrival. Now, there were but five, and all of them strangers. This far from home, they always were.

Sat alone at the back of the room, he had ordered for himself a drink, and a serving of the day's meal.

'Venison.' The big-bellied tavernkeep had told him, sporting a big ole smile, as if to suggest he had hunted the animal himself. 'It'll cost ye, mind. A silver, an' a couple coppers fer yer drink.' Ale was all they had. Apparently -and somewhat unfortunately, Willard would soon come to realise- the wine had run out nearly three days ago. A delivery was due some time in the near future. 'Could be 'ere in a couple days, 'aps even a couple hours.' The big man had shrugged. 'There be a war on, y'know! Ain't nothin' arrivin' on time these days.'

As a matter of fact, I do.

Nodding, Willard had kept his thoughts to himself, settling for what was available. A mistake. The tavernkeep's daughter had brought him his ale, along with a plate of venison and boiled vegetables. The meal was fine. The drink, not so much. 'Bloody Järnberg.' Willard cursed under his breath, returning to the small map he'd been pouring over for the past half-hour. He heard the tavern door bang open, then close. There was a rush of voices. Calm, polite-like.

Willard looked up, curious.
 
The heavy oak door slammed open with force that it bounced its hinges. A wind smelling of evening and damp earth rushed in. Venla stood in the doorway, her chest rising and falling with the weight of her run. Snow and mud streaked the hem of her skirts. She shut the door behind her, leaning her back against the wood as if she wanted to keep something out. Then, she exhaled and pushed off, striding toward the counter.

The few patrons that remained this hour only stared at her. They knew better than to ask questions they did not want answered.

Strands of her red hair clung to her face, damp with sweat. She had not stopped running since she first saw it. She cast a glance across the room. The green eyes settled on the stranger at the back. A traveler. He had maps. As soon as she caught sight of the maps sprawled across his table, her feet turned of their own accord.

The ginger stopped at his table, eyes flicking to the parchment spread before him. Venla placed one hand on the table’s edge, leaning down just enough to get a better look. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. She couldn’t read maps, not properly at least. The lines and different marks in the parchment meant nothing to her.

"Where are we on this?" she asked, voice tight. Words pressed sharp between her teeth and heavy breathing. She smelled of forest and fear, if that even was a scent. Of pine and something wilder beneath the sweat and rain.

@Willard
 
Here comes trouble. Sighing, Willard went back to his maps as the stranger approached. Pretty, and dishevelled, she appeared to have been dragged through a hedge backwards, though it was more likely she'd charged through it willingly, if the fear in her green eyes wasn't an act. These days, you never could be too sure.

The hitch in her voice was real enough. Willard had heard its like before, from people he knew better.

'The middle of nowhere,' the dawnling replied, calm, unbothered by the woman's distress. Whatever trouble she had encountered upon the road, it had not followed her here. The horses remain quiet, as do the dogs. They would be the first to know, should something dangerous this way come. 'Perhaps a little to the right of nowhere.' Willard corrected himself. 'It's a two day ride to Drachenberg from here, three if you plan on going the opposite direction towards Kalf.'

Looking up, he studied the stranger's face a moment.

'You must be in a great hurry indeed, to show up here, cut to pieces as you are.' Does she even realise her cheek's bleeding? The knight wondered, pushing his chair back. Rounding the table, he gestured for her to join him. 'Please, sit! I will call for food and drink, and you can tell me all about what it is that's troubling you, miss...?'

@Venla Thiel
 
Raindrops beading on her lashes, her chest rising and falling like she had not yet stopped running. Her eyes darted to the map, then to the man, then to the map. Then back at the man again, this calm, polite creature with his fine maps and polished speech. She looked at him properly then. Fair-haired. Brown eyed. Younger than her, though not a boy.

When he said "cut to pieces", she blinked, slow and owlish. “What?” she murmured. Then she felt it. The warmth. The slow, crawling trickle running down her cheek, sticky and wet. Her hand came up, fingertips numb from cold, and brushed the blood smeared from temple to jaw.

Her hand came back down wet. Red. She stared at it. “Oh,” she murmured to herself. “Didn’t feel it.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her sleeve, smearing blood and dirt in a broad streak across her face.

“Don’t need you callin’ for anything.” She moved, suddenly, sliding into the seat he had gestured to. Her finger came down on the map. She pointed. “Where are we?” she asked, voice tight again. “On this. Show me." Her voice was husky, roughened by wind and ash. When he didn’t move quick enough, she reached for him and grabbed his wrist. Not gently, but not too hard either. She was not that strong, just determined. Her fingers were cold against the thin skin of his wrist. She dragged his hand to the map.

@Willard
 
No name. No patience. Just fear and fast hands. What did she run into out there? Willard wondered, the fingers wrapped around his wrist insistent. 'We are here,' he said, pointing to an unmarked spot on the map, 'and you are safe, so calm down, and tell me what's going on.'

Oath-sworn, his first duty was to the Vayd Tree, then to all those who lives were lived in its shadow. Perhaps this stranger was part of the latter, though the accent suggested otherwise. It didn't matter. He would help her anyway.

If it's aid she seeks. That remains to be seen.

Pulling free of her grip, he returned to his seat, waited as was his wont. The other patrons continued to sip at their drinks, heads down, eyes averted. Bet their ears work fine, though. The dawnling mused, still waiting.
 
The pair of green eyes dropped to the spot his finger touched. She leaned forward. Her fingers grazed the lines of the map, her thoughts trailing behind them. Feeling the ridges of the ink under her skin. That must be Arrowdale, she recognized the shape of the crossroad, the way the buildings huddled together... and the forest curling round the back. Her eyes fluttered closed. She tried to remember the path she’d taken, but panic blurred details in her mind's eye. Her shoulders rose, slow, and then sank again. A long, slow breath.

She opened her eyes again. She leaned forward a bit, her elbows braced against the table. Venla tried to make some sense of all lines, but these black lines did not exist outside the paper. Her red hair fell like a curtain over her face. Venla’s finger hovered over the map for a moment before dropping down at a point just east of them. “That..” she muttered, pointing at the darkened shape that rose like a claw in the forest. “What is it? Do you know what’s there?” Her finger pressed harder against the map as if she could force an answer from it.

Her gaze flickered briefly to the young man, the muscles in her neck tightening. She didn’t want him to think her mad. They always think you’re mad, if you speak of the things that can’t be named. Fear bubbled in her gut. She leaned back, into the chair and sighed. Another breath. Another heavy silence. Venla’s fingers curled into the fabric of her kirtle.

“Appreciate the help.” she said, her tone warmer now with a touch of genuine gratitude. She extended her hand to him.
She didn’t want to be rude.“Venla.” she said.

@Willard
 
The stranger perused the map as if it belonged to her, revealing much in her haste. Arrowdale? Interesting. Rarely did his rangings take him through that neck of the woods. Settling into his seat, Willard chased the redhead's eyes with his own. He could tell the town was close to the stranger's heart from the way her fingers traced the lines of the map, like she was picturing the place in her mind. Home, or so close as to make no difference.

The red veil descended before he could glean much more information. But that was okay. At least she was talking now.

'Willard. And you're welcome, Venla.' Taking her hand in his, the knight smiled, shook. 'As to the point you just indicated, yes, I know what's there.' Letting go, he folded his arms upon the table, leant in to get a better look. 'The wood-kin speak of corruption and blight. Travellers tell stories of monsters and Shroud Fiends.' He paused. 'What's your interest in it, if you don't mind me asking?'

@Venla Thiel
 
Shroud Fiends.
Corruption and blight.

And he said it like someone commenting on the weather. Venla stiffened.

How could he speak of it so easy? Like it was something far-off. Like it hadn’t stared at her through the trees. The red head said nothing for a moment. Just breathed. In. Out. Her green eyes sharp with something too brittle to be called calm. Venla leaned forward, slow and stiff like something was pulling at her spine.

“I was lookin’ down over the forest. I saw a big pillar of green fire coming from there... I know wasn’t fire. Not really. Don’t know how else to say it." But she had no other words to describe it. Her fingers toyed absently with a thread unraveling from her sleeve. A motion without thought, born of nerves wound too tight. “It made no sound. " And yet… she had heard it... In her bones. Like hot iron screaming when it was dropped into cold water. "The trees bent away from it. Bent, like they were trying to crawl backward." She swallowed hard, shook her head once.

Venla watched his face as she spoke, word by word. She expected the narrowing of his eyes. Anything that would betray the thought “She’s mad.” Her hand brushed against her throat, like she regretted speaking about this. In her belly, fear still turned slow and silent like a millwheel.

“And the air... it burned cold. Not like frost...B-but like grief." Her lip trembled once. She bit it, hard. The thought of a bath, steam rising, hot water to rinse away the stink of sweat and old leaves, the cold out of her spine, was almost enough to make her groan aloud. She’d have curled into the kitchen kettle, given half a chance. Let them light the fire beneath her. Let her bones stew. Anything to feel warm again.

@Willard
 
She was out of the woods, but still she jumped at the barest mention of shadows. Maybe she has her reasons, thought Willard, watching the way Venla fidgeted in her chair. Her gaze never stayed still for long, he noted, and she had trouble looking him in the eye, as if it was him she feared. Willard doubted that; he was the last person she should be afraid of.

Monsters, then.

'I know of what you speak, though I cannot claim to understand it.' A spire of flame amidst so much kindling. Trees bending away from the fire, their roots the only thing keeping them trapped in place, and frigid air that felt like grief. It reeked of madness and fear-induced delusions. Worse, it stank of the corruption he had been told to watch for.

And yet Willard knew enough of the world to know it would always find new ways to surprise him. Giving Venla the benefit of the doubt was the least he could do for her. The rest... We will see.

'Were you alone when you spotted the aberration, Venla?' The dawnling asked, studying the symbols on the map. There were three marking the point she had struck out. All three inferred the kind of danger best avoided. 'Did you see anyone else there with you?'

@Venla Thiel
 
“I took the shortcut.” she muttered. “Old deer trail between Arrowdale and here. It’s faster than going the road and over the bridge." While she talked her index finger traveled across the map. Showing him the trail that cuts across the low marsh and then climbs a ridge. Many had stopped using it since the spring flood last spring, but Venla knew the way, she had been walking it since she was knee-high.

“I was alone. I thought I was. But just past the ridge, I saw someone...”

Her throat closing tight. She forced it open again. “A man." Or... something wearing the shape of one. The figure’s image was stuck behind her eyelids whenever she blinked. Branded, burned into her mind. She hadn't seen his face... but there might not have been one. She rubbed the heel of her palm against one temple, trying to press the memory out through her skull.

Tall. Barefoot. Skin like bark peeled back, colour like wet rot. And antlers, huge ones, twisted with green ghost-fire embers. There was a wrongness to it that made her stomach knot. That same ache one got when you touched something and know you weren’t supposed to.

“Do you think it’ll stay there?” she asked, but Venla wasn’t sure what answer she wanted. “How safe are we here?”

@Willard
 
'A man? What did he look like?' Willard tried to pry more information out of her, to no avail. Whatever Venla had seen, she was clearly having a hard time remembering. If what she saw was even real. Again, the dawnling decided to humour her. The fear is genuine enough. Whatever the truth may be, she believes she saw something out there. And that would have to suffice. At least until he had made his own investigations.

'Depends,' replied Will, gesturing at the room around them. 'Do you see the man here with us?'

Was it craven of him to hope she didn't? Willard thought not. A lone knight could never hope to contend with the monsters that called the Vayd home. At best, he would stand long enough to give Venla and the others a chance at escape. At worst, he would be dead before he could draw his sword. But such was a ranger's lot in life.

'If so, I suggest heading out the back and running like hell, though I do not think that will be necessary.' Unless the ward stones have been breached, he mused, trying to keep the thought from reaching his face. 'In any case, I will do what I can to protect you,' he said, before his words could reinforce Venla's fears. 'You have my word.'

@Venla Thiel
 
'Do you see the man here with us?' Venla stared at Willard. Then she gave a low, humorless huff, more breath than a laugh.
"Right. If he was here, I wouldn’t be sitting so comfortably." she shot back.

"Broad-shouldered, built like someone who spent his life at an anvil." she began. She swallowed hard, jaw tight. “He looked like a man... but only if you squinted. Like someone had tried to shape a tree into a person and stopped halfway." Her voice faltered, just for a moment. "He was just … wrong. He had horns. Huge antlers. And they were burning… no, smoldering with that green fire." A beat passed.

“I couldn’t see his face. Might not have been one. Just this… dark hollow." She looked up at Willard, hesitant. Venla let out a breath she did not realize she’d been holding. The warmth of the fire in the hearth, and young Willard’s steady presence across the table had begun to melt away the worst of the fear clawing at her ribs.

“Do you doubt me?” she wondered, softer now, she leaned back at last. Her shoulders sinking into the chair, a long sigh escaping her. She wanted to ask him, had he ever stared at something, someone, and felt like it wanting the world to end? Her fingers drummed softly on the edge of the table. The question almost slipped out, but she swallowed it down. Not yet.

"Maybe I'll have that drink now..?"

@Willard
 
'Maybe that would be wise.' Willard smiled reassuringly. 'You were shaking like a leaf when you first strode in here. It is hard to doubt someone whose heart has been gripped by fear as surely as yours was.' An assumption on his part, though not at all far-fetched. A warrior could recognise a warrior, and Venla was anything but.

Still, she does not lack for courage, thought the dawnling, catching the barmaid's eye with a gesture.

'One more here, please!' He called out, proving that chivalry wasn't quite as dead as folk believed. Mind you, it probably would have been kinder of me to suggest she stick to water. It was unlikely the ale had improved much in the last five minutes, and the shipment of wine had yet to materialise. Sometimes you just had to make do.

'Tell me, Venla, what was it that saw you wandering the woods to begin with?' Willard asked, keeping his tone light and friendly. 'Are you a herbalist, perchance? Or maybe even a monster hunter in disguise?'

@Venla Thiel
 
Venla let out a low, humorless chuckle, her gaze met Willard’s. "Herbalist? Monster hunter?" She smiled, shaking her head. "No, just someone trying to get home." Her fingers curling around the mug that she had been served. Nothing dramatic, just... life.. “I was visiting my sister. She just had her first child. They live in Ramshorn.” she said. Ramshorn only a half glass walk east of this village.

She could tell from his tone, his careful choice of words, that he still wasn’t fully convinced of her story. Her hand tightened around her mug. “I was not out there looking for trouble. If I were... I'd start right here.” A shadow of a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

The fire crackled in the hearth. The ginger studied the man's expression. The concern was still there, but so was the skepticism. Venla gave him a sidelong glance before she shifted her gaze toward the table where the map lay spread out. Venla’s fingers moved restlessly over the weathered parchment, absentmindedly running them along its edges while she took a slow sip of the ale. Pressing the corner of the parchment a little too hard, giving it a dog ear. She took several deep gulps,

When she finally set the mug down, she said "Thanks for the ale." She leaned back in the chair, exhaling slowly, her fingers tapping against the parchment again. "Soo.. why are someone like you here?" she wondered.

@Willard
 
'Oh, really?' Willard's eyes widened so-so, the news a welcome change to the doom and gloom of yesterdays. 'I suppose congratulations are in order, auntie,' the knight laughed quietly, taking a sip of ale. It was still as bad as ever, but it felt wrong letting Venla drink alone. Talk of trouble -and where to find it- had him raise an eyebrow in question.

'Trouble? In a tavern?' Willard snorted, shook his head. 'You'll have to look elsewhere, I'm afraid. This place is about as quiet as a cemetery. Well. Until you walked in.'

A good place to make new acquaintances, were taverns. If it was information you sought, or just company, they never failed to provide, though, out here in the sticks, travellers were few and far between. And with the Marcher Lords kicking up a stink, business wasn't much like to improve unless someone put a quick and decisive end to the matter. Three years of skirmishes and raids benefitted no-one, least of all the smallfolk caught in the middle.

'Me? I'm just trying to get home. Same as you.' Smiling, Willard shrugged. It wasn't a lie. But neither was it the full truth. Caution is key. Venla seemed an honest enough sort. But the order had enemies, and their greatest weapon was trickery. Willard was not so foolish as to consider himself infallible.

'I was planning out a route when you walked in,' he said, sliding the map back towards him, and so away from Venla's callous fingers. 'I'll make camp nearby, then continue on my way come morning.'

@Venla Thiel
 
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